The sunlight cast a bright glow throughout the study, illuminating the dancing particles in the air. The room was spacious and delicately decorated in blues. An elegant table and chair occupied the center, with a few book cases against the walls and various paintings hung where they could fit. A book sat open and unread in front of Moria as she gazed out the window, her tutor droning on about Camelot’s history. Today the focus was on the ban of magic, a subject she had known about since she was a little girl. The shallow memory of a servant found practicing magic surfaced in her mind, and she remembered the way the servant had screamed as she had been lead away. In Moria’s opinion, she got what she deserved. Magic was an illegal practice, after all, and the kingdom had no use for criminals. A stern voice broke into her thoughts. “Moria.” She turned her attention back to her elderly tutor, Nascien, who was currently giving her a rather sour look. Then again, he always seemed to have a sour expression, as if he had bitten into a poorly made lemon cake. His face was wrinkled and weathered, his bald head reflecting the sunbeams. “Yes?” “Who was the most powerful sorcerer of all?” He asked it very slowly, exaggerating his enunciations. Plastering on her best bored look, she responded with the first name that came to mind. “Caxton.” A story about him and a dragon came to mind, though she hadn’t read it for many years. Or had he actually been the dragon? Nascien’s nostrils flared in quiet frustration, a quirk she found hilarious. “It’s Morrigan. The most powerful sorcerer was actually a sorceress. A very cunning one too. She was publicly executed for her crimes against the crown in Great King Luther’s reign…” He returned to his droning lecture and Moria returned to ignoring him, retreating back into her thoughts and daydreams. Lady Ashlyn had given her a new book of poems. It was about the adventures of a handsome knight named Gwyn, who was brave, kind, and funny. Smiling to herself as she recalled the jokes, she imagined herself as the girl he danced with in one of the poems, her beautiful dress twirling as they circled elegantly in front of the dazzled guests. After awhile, the lesson was finally over. Moria left the room without another word, escaping down the stone stairs. Her father’s reasons for continuing her studies were understandable, but after six years they would be coming to an end soon. She could speak Latin fluently, recite the history of Camelot from the world’s creation to last month, sew better than her own seamstress, dance like a bard, and sing… Well, her singing wasn’t the greatest, but it’s not as if she needed to be an entertainer. As she walked, she took the time to run her hands lightly over her dark blonde braid, looking for any places she may need to fix. Satisfied with her check, she paused before the doors to the inner courtyard doors. The shrill laughs and squeals from the group of noble girls gathered outside pierced through the wooden door as if it were air. Moria didn’t particularly like any of them, except for maybe Ashlyn on her good days, but they fell over themselves to suck up to the throne’s sole heir. Their thinly-veiled jealousy was a bonus. The door suddenly opened towards her so quickly she had to step back to avoid it, nearly tripping on her long dress. After the initial surprise, her rage appeared as fast as lightning, burning red hot in the face of near-humiliation. Her gaze instantly zoned in on the servant who had opened the door and frozen upon seeing her there. “You nearly hit me, idiot!” She hissed. “M-Milady, I-I am-“ “I could have been hurt!” She continued, venom dripping from her voice. “Get away from me, filth!” He scurried away, rounding the corner in the blink of an eye. Moria let out an indignant huff, straightening her dress. The servants only got more stupid as the years went on. Walking out into the sun, she was greeted with the stares of the three gathered ladies as she approached. “Did you see that? He almost smashed that wooden door right into me!” “Oh yes, we saw.” Galiene immediately chirped. “He swung it open so carelessly.” “He could have hit you right in the face!” Vivien added. “Would have knocked you right out, most likely.” Ashlyn said, looking more amused than anything else. “That would have been just awful.” “I know.” Scenes of her falling gracelessly to the ground occupied Moria’s thoughts. It would have been incredibly embarrassing, even more so in front of the other noble ladies. “The newer servants are positively useless. They have no respect for their betters.” “Quite true.” Galiene hummed cheerfully, blue eyes drifting to Moria’s braid. “You hair looks very pretty today, Moria. I’ve never seen that style before.” “Do you really like it? I learned it from a foreign noble awhile back.” The quartet chatted through much of the early afternoon, enjoying the warm day. Birds chirped overhead, occasionally taking off towards the puffy white clouds. Topics the women discussed were mostly light-hearted, and their laughs echoed across the ward. “So, Moria.” Vivien began after a short silence, “Are you excited for the tournament?” Moria frowned, tugging absently at the folds of her dress. “I guess. It just seems so… random. There is no need for a tournament right now, except for maybe as entertainment.” “Maybe King Rion is looking for potential suitors.” Ashlyn said. Galiene gasped, her eyes widening at the idea. “Imagine all the knights and nobles who will be there.” “I hadn’t considered that…” It was true of course. The champion would win money as well as fame, but they would also be facing off against one another in front of the king and princess. It would be an excellent opportunity to show off. Her imagination supplied her with images of shining armor and brilliant smiles. “You know, I hear the king is allowing peasants to enter.” Ashlyn said. “Maybe a farmer boy will be the one to win your hand in marriage.” Moria made a face as the other ladies giggled madly. “Over my dead body.” --- “Sit still.” Sebille commanded, promptly ripping the brush through a rather nasty tangle in Moria’s hair. Moria let out a rather undignified yelp, her head aching from the torture. “You made the decision to wrap your hair up in that fancy foreign braid, now you have to live with the consequences.” Moria may or may not have hissed a few choice cuss words under her breath as her maid continued to brush her hair, pulling through the tangles with strength she didn’t know Sebille had. Her father had a certain fondness for the late queen’s maid and kept her around, though Moria didn’t like her at all. After many grueling minutes, the brush finally passed through her hair smoothly, and she was granted a reprieve. “I believe it looked very pretty.” Moria said, examining herself in the mirror. She had slept fitfully last night, dark dreams refusing her decent sleep. “Of course it did, Milady.” Sebille busied herself with searching for what she needed, opening and shutting various drawers on the large vanity. “Now, how about something a bit more elegant for the tournament?” The question was rhetorical, but Moria still gave her a small nod. “Sebille, do you think father will really let simple commoners join the tournament?” “The king will do anything for you, Milady. If a peasant is the worthiest in the land, then your father would honor that.” “As if a peasant could be the strongest in the land.” Moria rolled her eyes, earning her a reproachful glare from Sebille. As if she cared what her old maid thought. “All they do is toil about in the fields and go to church.” “You may be surprised, Princess. Many commoners learn to protect themselves, and some are quite skilled with the sword.” “But none can ever win against my father’s knights.” Moria stated, a confident fire lit in her eyes. “As you say, Milady.” “Besides, my father would also never allow a peasant to marry me.” Sebille gave her reflection a befuddled look. “Marry you?” “Of course. Why else would he be holding a tournament to test the worthiest so close to the end of my studies?” The woman paused, seemingly lost in thought. Becoming irritated, Moria snapped her fingers to regain Sebille’s attention. “What is it, maid?” “It is nothing, Your Highness. That idea is a sound one.” “I am quite smart, you know.” “Yes, Milady.” After a long hour of Sebille’s fussing, Moria was made to look “much like the queen herself”, and escorted off to meet her father so they could travel to the tournament. King Rion met her with a smile and a slight bow, both of which she returned. “Shall we depart, Your Majesty?” The king had been a rare sight during the past few weeks, and she had missed him. He smiled. “I would never keep a lady waiting.” --- There were people everywhere, as if the entire population had shown up. It was a loud and chaotic event, many gathered to either watch the show or to be a part of it. She managed to avoid fidgeting in her seat, but she was not immune to the infectious excitement of the crowd. The crowd was hushed easily, however, with the presence of the king. While he spoke, Moria examined the contenders, finding that her father had indeed allowed commoners to enter. Quite a few had even bothered to show up, though they were obviously ill-matched to the better armored and better armed knights. A few looked slightly formidable, but she paid them no mind. The first rounds of matches were boring. One side would easily defeat the other, ending the match in a few swings. She observed as a knight knocked a peasant unconscious without even unsheathing his own sword. It was almost comedic, but she kept her amusement in check. After a time, another peasant was called, and the crowd jeered once more. The knight, Sir Baul, was a beast of a man, making the match an easy one. He charged with a shout, and she was surprised when the peasant simply sidestepped him and caught him off balance. Her surprise turned into sheer disbelief as the commoner knocked Sir Baul to the ground and placed his blade against the knight’s neck. He had won. A commoner had truly won against a knight. The spectators had gone silent, echoing Moria’s state of mind. Then again, it was probably just dumb luck. The commoner had won only once, after all. She settled back into her chair, waiting for the next match. Anxiety grew in her stomach as she watched the peasant defeat his next opponents with ease. Her nails dug into her arm rests, turning her knuckles white. The king remained quiet throughout the event, observing with an indecipherable look. This peasant, Lander, was making the knights look like bumbling fools. The crowd had even begun to cheer for him. Finally, the last match was called, and Moria was granted some relief in knowing that Sir Jerald would be the commoner’s opponent. The knight was one of the finest in all of Camelot. The man would be put back in his place, as they would laugh about it over the evening’s dinner. The king addressed them one last time before they faced each other. The duelists exchanged words Moria could not hear, but the tension rolling off of them was obvious. When the first blows were exchanged, she was mesmerized, watching them fight near equally. The people roared around her, and she leaned slightly forward with rapt attention. And then, it was over. Lander’s blade made contact with Sir Jerald’s armor. The knight fell to the ground and remained there, the peasant standing above him. All of the air left her lungs in a surge. It had to be a dream. There was no other explanation. A low class common man did not simply win a tournament against the kingdom’s best fighters, not to mention a hundred gold pieces and the honor of a meal with the royalty. It was outrageous. “It seems we have our winner.” The king stood, projecting his voice so all could hear, though his eyes remained fixed on Lander. “Lander, you have defeated many worthy opponents. You have proven yourself for the honor of the title of Champion.” The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, and Moria’s stomach was full of knots. “It seems we will be having a rather unexpected guest for dinner tonight, Your Majesty.” The advisor whispered to the king. “An honored guest.” “Yes of course.” The realization hit her that she would indeed have to dine with this man as if he were an equal. What if he didn’t speak properly? If he stuttered as some of the servants did, she would not last the whole meal without leaving. What would he even talk about? The wheat yield this year? A headache bloomed above her brow, the dull pulsing putting her in an even worse mood. It couldn’t get any worse after this humiliation. Her father turned towards her, gaining her attention. “We shall return to the castle shortly.” His expression turned abruptly serious. “He is our guest, Moria. Remember your graces.” She did not bother to hide the subtle distaste that settled across her face, but she did not push the subject. “Good.” The king then turned and addressed his advisor directly. “Make arrangements with our guest. I have a few things to attend to before we go. He will come with us when we return, and will be staying in a proper guest room.” His gaze flicked over to Moria for a moment, a thoughtful look behind his eyes. “Bring Moria with you to congratulate him.” “[i]What?[/i]” “Your graces, Moria.” The advisor said, his face completely neutral. “Congratulate the winner. He fought hard for his victory. Come along now." This was truly the icing on the cake. Sometimes she really hated these royal niceties. Standing up gracefully, she forced her tumultuous feelings aside and put on a mask of perfect regality. Her father gave her a small nod, but she ignored him, turning and descending the stairs. She crossed the arena in quick steps, the advisor just behind her. It would be just like singing lessons: the faster she did it, the faster she could leave and pretend it never happened. Sir Jerald had already disappeared, but the commoner remained, probably waiting for his bag of gold. Lower classes didn’t seem to care for much else. Halting before him, she addressed him with the best neutral tone she could muster. “Congratulations, Champion Lander. Your fighting skills are… admirable.”